air. Martin shook his head to try to get control of himself. The paramedics would find an elevated heartbeat, but nothing more. They wouldn't be able to diagnose what had just happened, because it wasn't physical.
As the ambulance skidded to a stop, Martin looked back at the priest, who nodded at him, his knowing gaze burning into Martin's soul.
Two male paramedics rushed up, setting down boxes of equipment. One of them clasped Martin's hand and he shook his head no, looking from one to the other. The first one babbled about vital signs and a trip to the hospital.
Martin voiced his dissent, and then glanced at the second paramedic, who held a clipboard and stared at him with the same look the priest had just delivered. Martin shivered and pushed everyone away, thanked them for their time, then wobbled toward a taxi, ignoring the cries of the medical workers for him to come back.
He didn't need their kind of assistance right now. It wouldn't help. He needed to talk to his friends, needed to relate his story to people who would believe him and help him decide how best to handle the situation.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
"There are no reported hauntings at that cemetery.” Devlin St. Giles flipped through a large book, then slapped it shut.
"I don't care,” Martin said, sipping from a huge mug full of chamomile tea. “Whether it's been reported or not, something is in that cemetery."
"Voodoo?” Fletch, Dev's lover, sat on Martin's other side, his face scrunched up in concern.
"I don't know,” Martin replied, smiling back at Quinn, the female part of their trio, who placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of him. Carbs were always good at restoring energy, and Martin dug into the food without hesitation.
"Male or female?” Fletch poked at him.
"Evil,” Martin said, his head bent toward the plate, strands of fettuccini hanging from his mouth. He swallowed quickly and sat down his fork. “I didn't get a signature on it, just the stench of malevolence. I felt no other spirits in there, so I'd say it has been feeding off their souls, absorbing their energy to grow strong."
"Wonderful,” Dev replied, sitting back. “Whatever it was thought you were a great addition to its smorgasbord."
Martin took another bite, savoring the creamy sauce that invaded his mouth. His friends let him eat in silence, and when his plate was empty he sat back. “We have to figure out what it is, and get rid of it."
"Why didn't it try to get anyone else?” Quinn took the empty plate to the stove, refilled it and put it back on the table.
Martin nodded his thanks at her when she sat down. “I put out feelers for it.” He shook his head in disgust at his own arrogance. He'd dreaded facing the spirits, and when he hadn't found any, he'd gone searching for them. “I wondered why I wasn't sensing anything, so I went looking. It probably took that as an invitation."
"And you know, Boo, that some of us are more open to things than others.” Fletch patted Quinn's hand and winked as Martin took another bite. He was getting full, but eating kept his hands busy. His nerves were still on edge, and he expected to feel the entity's icy grip try to take hold of him again. But it...
"Stopped at the gate."
"What?” Dev shook his head in confusion.
"It's bound to the cemetery, which means some other psychic has already had a run in with it, no matter what the book says.” Martin twirled the pasta around the fork, shook the utensil clean, then started again.
"I'll call my aunt,” Fletch said. “Maybe she's heard some stories about the Orleans."
Martin nodded. There were lots of old souls around, involved in voodoo or other paranormal activities that might be able to tell them what he'd encountered today. He wasn't sure he was up for it tonight, though.
He ached, both mentally and physically, and even though it was barely eight o'clock, he wanted to go to bed.
"Stay here,” Fletch offered, as if reading his mind. “We've
As the ambulance skidded to a stop, Martin looked back at the priest, who nodded at him, his knowing gaze burning into Martin's soul.
Two male paramedics rushed up, setting down boxes of equipment. One of them clasped Martin's hand and he shook his head no, looking from one to the other. The first one babbled about vital signs and a trip to the hospital.
Martin voiced his dissent, and then glanced at the second paramedic, who held a clipboard and stared at him with the same look the priest had just delivered. Martin shivered and pushed everyone away, thanked them for their time, then wobbled toward a taxi, ignoring the cries of the medical workers for him to come back.
He didn't need their kind of assistance right now. It wouldn't help. He needed to talk to his friends, needed to relate his story to people who would believe him and help him decide how best to handle the situation.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
"There are no reported hauntings at that cemetery.” Devlin St. Giles flipped through a large book, then slapped it shut.
"I don't care,” Martin said, sipping from a huge mug full of chamomile tea. “Whether it's been reported or not, something is in that cemetery."
"Voodoo?” Fletch, Dev's lover, sat on Martin's other side, his face scrunched up in concern.
"I don't know,” Martin replied, smiling back at Quinn, the female part of their trio, who placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of him. Carbs were always good at restoring energy, and Martin dug into the food without hesitation.
"Male or female?” Fletch poked at him.
"Evil,” Martin said, his head bent toward the plate, strands of fettuccini hanging from his mouth. He swallowed quickly and sat down his fork. “I didn't get a signature on it, just the stench of malevolence. I felt no other spirits in there, so I'd say it has been feeding off their souls, absorbing their energy to grow strong."
"Wonderful,” Dev replied, sitting back. “Whatever it was thought you were a great addition to its smorgasbord."
Martin took another bite, savoring the creamy sauce that invaded his mouth. His friends let him eat in silence, and when his plate was empty he sat back. “We have to figure out what it is, and get rid of it."
"Why didn't it try to get anyone else?” Quinn took the empty plate to the stove, refilled it and put it back on the table.
Martin nodded his thanks at her when she sat down. “I put out feelers for it.” He shook his head in disgust at his own arrogance. He'd dreaded facing the spirits, and when he hadn't found any, he'd gone searching for them. “I wondered why I wasn't sensing anything, so I went looking. It probably took that as an invitation."
"And you know, Boo, that some of us are more open to things than others.” Fletch patted Quinn's hand and winked as Martin took another bite. He was getting full, but eating kept his hands busy. His nerves were still on edge, and he expected to feel the entity's icy grip try to take hold of him again. But it...
"Stopped at the gate."
"What?” Dev shook his head in confusion.
"It's bound to the cemetery, which means some other psychic has already had a run in with it, no matter what the book says.” Martin twirled the pasta around the fork, shook the utensil clean, then started again.
"I'll call my aunt,” Fletch said. “Maybe she's heard some stories about the Orleans."
Martin nodded. There were lots of old souls around, involved in voodoo or other paranormal activities that might be able to tell them what he'd encountered today. He wasn't sure he was up for it tonight, though.
He ached, both mentally and physically, and even though it was barely eight o'clock, he wanted to go to bed.
"Stay here,” Fletch offered, as if reading his mind. “We've
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